


salt & burn

by ymorton



Series: ghosties [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nick and harry drive around hunting scary stuff</p>
            </blockquote>





	salt & burn

**Author's Note:**

> 1/3 supernatural au, 1/3 the conjuring au, 1/3 weird made up shit 
> 
> harry's a clairvoyant loner nick picked up a few years ago. for nick, it's the family business, and it always will be. 
> 
> also it's the 1970s? i guess????? just put on some [scary music](http://8tracks.com/ymort/salt-burn) & go with it
> 
> come say hello on tumblr it's ihavea1dbloghelp

They get into town on a Thursday, meet their next clients at a pub that apparently specializes in some awful sort of moonshine that smells like bleach and tastes just as poisonous. 

The blonde Irish one’s called Niall, the loud one’s called Louis, and the sweet one is Zayn, and apparently they’re totally fucking haunted. 

“Yeaaaah, mate,” Niall says, gulping the last of his pint. “So, like, we moved in a few months back, coz we’re all second-years, yeah?" 

"Excuse me, I’m a third-year,” Louis says, giving Niall a look. “Please don’t drag me down with you sorry lot-" 

"Ah, shut up, idiot,” Niall laughs. “Anyway, so. It’s a nice place and dead cheap - bit outside of town, sweet-arse backyard we are _so_ having barbecues in once the weather warms up - but. It started a couple months back, I guess - wouldn’t you say, lads?" 

"Yeah, two months,” Zayn says. “Two months is when it first happened.”

“Just little shit at first,” Niall continues, nodding at Zayn. “The light flicking on in the middle of the night. Sink running in the kitchen when no one was in there. Maybe, like, our shit moving around a bit. Zayn kept losing his books and then finding them shoved under the sofa. Weird shit. We both thought it was Louis at first, since he’s a twat-" 

"Sod off!” Louis yells, smacking his arm. “Like I care enough about either of you to do all that." 

"You cared enough about me to fill my shoes with feckin horse shit that one time!” Niall says back, snorting. “You arse! _Anyway_ , so, last week I bring this bird home, yeah? Her name’s Ainsley, she’s from my economics course. Super fit. Blonde hair, tits out to here-" 

"Niall, no one cares about your nonexistent girlfriend,” Louis says impatiently. Zayn’s laughing quietly to himself. “Explain the fucking ghost thing." 

"Shut up, I’m just letting them get a feel for it!” Niall says. “So we’re on the sofa, right? She’s got her top off, I’m like - _well_ up for it, if you know what I mean, ha ha - and suddenly the bloody cabinet opens and three fuckin’ plates smash on the ground. Just out of nowhere. No wind, no nothing, just - _bam_." 

"Sounds fishy,” Nick says, the first word he’s got in since they sat down. Harry’s still silent, but Nick can tell he’s listening. 

“Fishy, yeah, totally.” Niall gulps his beer. “So she runs out of there in a hurry, and now it’s personal, right? I mean, this fucking ghost cockblocked me. So I said something like _what the fuck was that_ and all a sudden I hear this _noise_ and I’m like- flat on my back, knocked out. On the floor. Me ears are ringing, I feel like I’m gonna be sick." 

Harry makes eye contact with Nick across the table, raises an eyebrow. Nick nods just slightly back.

"That it?” Nick says, and Niall gawks at him, offended. 

“Yeah, that’s it! Sounds like a hell of a lot of sketchy shit, don’t it?" 

"It really has been happening,” Zayn adds, leaning forward. “Niall was really, like, affected. Couldn’t stop shaking for a couple hours." 

"And the sink thing is _constant_ ,” Louis says. “Our water bill for last month was bleedin’ mental." 

"It definitely warrants a look,” Nick says, slowly. “I can’t say whether I’ll be able to help, but I’m certainly willing to try." 

"And what about him, eh?” Niall says, nodding at Harry. “What, he your deaf-mute assistant or summat?" 

Harry goes pink at being teased. "M'not deaf,” he says, the words slow like molasses, oozing out from between his teeth. It doesn’t exactly make him sound right in the head. 

“Or mute, apparently,” Zayn says, huffing a laugh. 

“That’s Harry,” Nick says. “And if you’re right about what’s in your house, he’s going to be absolutely crucial to fixing it. So lay off." 

–

It only takes one visit for Nick to know, yeah, this is their kind of business.

The kitchen is normal - cheery, bright, messy, the sink stacked high with dirty dishes and most of the icebox taken up with vodka in an unlabeled bottle and six-packs of lager. 

"That’s where the cabinet opened, and all the plates went out,” Niall says, opening it and closing it again. “And here’s the sink that always keeps turning on." 

"Thanks,” Nick says distractedly, inspecting the faucet. “Would you mind leaving us for a minute?" 

"I’ve got class, actually,” Niall says, picking his bag up from the table. “So knock yourself out. Zayn and Lou should be back around six." 

The door bangs behind him, and they’re left alone. 

"How we feelin’, love?” Nick says softly to Harry, who is putting his hand on the countertop, flat, his fingers spread wide. 

“Gimme a minute,” Harry mumbles, and Nick nods, moves to the front room of the house to give Harry space to work. 

“Yeah, Nick,” Harry says, a few minutes later, stepping out of the kitchen. “There’s something here, but it’s not - not demonic.”

“Tell me,” Nick murmurs, running his hand over the dusty table in the front room, covered in stacks of unopened mail and discarded takeaway boxes. God, these uni students are filthy. If Nick were a spirit he’d probably start tossing shit around in protest. 

Harry bites his bottom lip, tilts his head up. Listening. 

“A girl,” he says, after a long moment. “She died, here." 

"When?" 

Harry shakes his head, his eyes closed. 

"She’s sad,” he says very softly. “She’s sad, and no one was here when she died." 

A photo falls to the ground, off the opposite wall. A picture of Zayn and his family. 

Nick takes a quick photo with his Polaroid, swallowing hard. That’s telling. "Alright, love, what else can you tell me?" 

"I - I dunno,” Harry mumbles. He swipes a hand over his eyes. “I just- I’m not sure. She’s tired, Nick." 

"I bet she is,” Nick murmurs. “Jesus." 

"It’s hard -” Harry stops, sucks in a breath, waving his hand in front of him like he’s swatting away a fly. “It’s hard. Sorry. She’s - she has a lot to say." 

"Is she saying it to you?” Nick says, keeping his voice steady. Harry’s good at what he does, but he gets - caught up, sometimes, and it scares Nick shitless. He doesn’t want Harry to get lost.

“Shh,” Harry mutters, eyes fluttering shut. 

Nick keeps still and quiet, lets Harry work. There’s a breeze coming in the open window, newspapers ruffling on the table. 

“Oh,” Harry breathes, and Nick looks at him. Harry’s staring at the wall. 

“What is it, Haz?" 

Harry tilts his head to the side. 

"She killed herself,” he says, still staring at the wall, eyes fixed on something Nick can’t see. “In the kitchen." 

"That explains all the unusual activity they’ve experienced in there,” Nick murmurs. “A spirit might latch onto the physical trappings of the exact place it died." 

"I can’t-” Harry says, and then makes a frustrated sound in his throat. “Ahh. God. I - I’ve lost the thread." 

He scrubs a hand over his face, nods Nick out of the house. Nick takes a last look around the empty room, and follows him.  

The wind is whipping fiercely, and Harry tucks his fingers into Nick’s hand for a second, squeezes. 

"Let’s go back to the motel,” he says. “Take a night off, come back early tomorrow and get started." 

"You sure?" 

Harry nods, dropping his hand, smiling sideways at Nick. He looks tired. "Don’t worry, she’s not going to- it’s not like that, I don’t think." 

"Should I tell them to stay out, for the night?” Nick asks. 

Harry shakes his head. “That’d make it worse, I think. She doesn’t want to be alone. Just tell Louis to keep the kitchen light on, and they should just ignore the - the usual occurrences." 

"Alone when she died, you said,” Nick murmurs. “Huh. I’ll call them." 

Harry lets out a sigh, as they get into Nick’s car. He tips his head back against the passenger seat. 

"I don’t think it’s going to require any kind of anti-possession work,” he says, once Nick’s reversed out of the driveway and pulled down the road. “Might be a simple salt-and-burn. Honestly, I don’t think she’s going to make any trouble about it - like I said, she’s tired. But - but I’m not sure. Feels - unpredictable." 

"Unpredictable?” Nick asks, peering over at him as he pulls into the motel parking lot. “How do you mean?" 

"The emotions I was picking up were - unstable,” Harry says, quietly. “Like - this very deep loneliness, and a lot of rage. A lot of self-loathing." 

"Rage,” Nick says, heaving a sigh. “Fan-fucking-tastic. Just what we need, a vengeful spirit and a bunch of idiotic uni boys." 

Harry just hums in his throat. "The thing I don’t get is why a suicide wouldn’t have been discussed in the deeds. There’s no record of it, Niall said they checked for any deaths in the house. How far back could it have happened?" 

"You couldn’t get a read on that?" 

Harry shakes his head, chewing his fingernail. "You know I’m shit at that sort of thing." 

Nick refrains from commenting. It’s true that Harry’s readings could be a bit more - concrete, at times. But Nick can’t sense spirits for shit, so it’s not exactly his place to criticize. 

"How’re we gonna find a body with no records?” Nick murmurs. 

Harry hums again. “Well. About that." 

Nick looks over at him. "What?" 

Harry looks back at him. "You’re not gonna like it." 

"How am I - ugh, just _tell_ me, Styles." 

"She likes me,” Harry says simply. “And I think she wants to tell me, like. I think she wants me to - to maybe stay a bit. If I - listen, to her, you know, for a while, I think she might lead us there herself." 

Nick stares at him. Turns the car off with a vicious twist of his hand, yanks out the key. 

"Absolutely not." 

"I told you you weren’t gonna like it.”

“We’re not - no. There has to be another way to find her body. I love you, Haz, you know that, but your methods aren’t exactly - concise." 

Harry smiles at him, dimples peeking out. 

"You love me?" 

Nick does _not_ go red. He’s just- hot. It’s just hot out, and so his cheeks naturally flush in the heat. He’s Northern, it happens, and it has absolutely bleeding nothing to do with Harry Styles. 

"Shut up,” he says back, opening his car door. “Let’s get dinner, I’m starved." 

–--

Nick goes out for for food while Harry showers, and comes back with burgers, chips, and a six-pack of some shite watery lager from the convenience store down the road. He’s halfway into the first bottle when Harry steps out of the tiny motel toilet, scrubbing at his hair with a towel, entirely naked otherwise. 

"Well, hello,” Nick says, because it’d be rude _not_ to greet Harry’s dick. It’s greeting him right back, half-hard and pink and waggling around. “Put clothes on, you’ll catch hepatitis off these sofas in a minute." 

Harry grins at him, slips into a pair of navy briefs and collapses onto the sofa next to Nick, grabs a beer. His towel is wrapped around his shoulders, now, and his hair is dripping, starting to curl. "I love that you care about my health, Nicholas." 

Nick just pulls a face into his beer, and hands Harry a burger. 

They fall asleep a few hours later, after quiet, muffled handjobs under the covers of one of the twin beds in their tiny room. Harry knows Nick doesn’t like to fuck properly until a job is done, and Nick’s sticking with that. Keeps him focused, like. 

But that doesn’t mean he can’t have this - Harry’s warm breath puffing against his shoulder, his mouth open and wet, his big hand working quick and sure on Nick’s cock while he sucks kisses into Nick’s neck. His fat lovely cock fitting perfectly in Nick’s palm. Nick would die without this, probably. He needs it like a burning under his skin, a fire in the bottom of his stomach that Harry stokes with every glance, every movement of his body. 

It’s stupid, but then - they hunt bleeding _ghosts_ for a living. Nick’s allowed to be a little stupid. Everyone else already thinks they’re fucking mental. 

Deep down, when Harry’s asleep next to him with one arm slung over Nick’s waist, Nick doesn’t think they’re mental at all. Not one bit. Not about their work, and not about each other. 

It feels like love, see. Nick doesn’t know much about love, but how he feels about Harry - stupid, brave, sensitive Harry with his headscarves and his long hair and his bright eyes - doesn’t feel like brothers, or best mates. Doesn’t feel like Nick’s supposed to feel about other men. 

He couldn’t stop if he tried, though. 

He’s deep asleep when the hotel phone rings, half past two AM. 

Harry groans as Nick struggles upright, pushing Harry’s warm arm off him, fumbling for the phone. 

"Hhhgh,” he says, sleep-slurred, and he coughs. “Er. Hello?" 

"Nick? That you?" 

Nick sits upright. "Mr. Horan?" 

"It’s just Niall, mate, I told you - oh _shit,_ Louis, get down!" 

Nick forces his eyes open, his hand fisting in the blankets. "What’s going on?" 

"It’s going mental!” Niall yells into the phone. “Shit flying everywhere! Plates breakin’, stove all - fucked up, s'a proper mess in here!" 

"Fuck,” Nick mutters, fumbling for his glasses on the bedside table. “The spirit is active?" 

"I’d fuckin’ say so!” Niall barks. Harry sits up next to Nick, grabs Nick’s thigh. 

“What’s happening,” he says, voice rough. 

“She’s active,” Nick says back, covering the phone with one hand. “Lots of destructive activity, plates breaking, etcetera." 

"Shit,” Harry says, softly. “ _Shit_." 

"S'not your fault,” Nick says, because he knows Harry pretty well, and he knows that’s where Harry’s mind goes first. He puts the phone back to his ear. “Is everyone alright, Niall?" 

"We’re - yeah, I suppose so, but not for bloody long!” Niall says, too loud, sounding panicky. “Louis nearly got his face cut up just now. Zayn’s - I told him to stay in his room." 

"Good,” Nick says, keeping the phone pressed to his ear as he stands up, the cord going taut. “Good. We’ll be there in ten minutes. Get out of the kitchen if you can, we’ve determined that’s the site of spiritual activity." 

"The site of _what_?” Niall yells, and Nick hears something else break in the background. “Fuck! Hurry up!" 

Nick slams the phone down. 

"Are they okay?” Harry asks, voice breaking, already standing up and wriggling into his jeans. Nick turns the lamp on, hand shaking just a little. He hates being woken up. And - he’s just - he’s got a bad feeling about this. About Harry, and this spirit. 

“They’re fine,” Nick says calmly, buttoning his shirt. “They’re just a bit frightened. It doesn’t sound like there’s any intention to kill. Just a good deal of chaos." 

"I should have- I should have known,” Harry says, shakily. “I should have warned them-" 

"Hey,” Nick says, as they meet in front of the bed, Harry shoeless and Nick with his jeans still unbuttoned. He grabs Harry’s chin, looks him in the eye. “Don’t do that. Please, love, it’s not your fault. Don’t - don’t go in like this, don’t have that guilt with you, alright, she’ll feed on it." 

Harry swallows hard, throat moving under Nick’s hand and his eyes flickering bright in the moonlight, and nods. 

–--

It is indeed chaos. Every light in the house is on, and as they run up the steps Nick can hear more glass breaking. He winces, shoves the door open, and Harry darts inside before him, sprints to the kitchen. 

There’s a silence, suddenly, and Nick’s ears start ringing as he steps into the kitchen behind Harry. 

"What the _hell_ ,” Niall says, breathing hard, cowering in the corner of the room. Louis is at his feet, blood dripping down from his cheek, looking woozy. 

Harry is stood in the middle of the room, and - oh. His eyes are closed, lips moving, and Nick’s seen this before. Harry’s deep in it. 

Glass crunches under his feet as he walks over to Niall, leaving Harry alone for a minute. 

“You alright?" 

"No,” Niall chokes out, voice breaking. “No! What the - why’d it stop all a sudden?" 

"Harry’s communicating with the spirit,” Nick says, kneeling down carefully, touching the blood on Louis’ cheek. “Are you alright, Mr. Tomlinson?" 

"Feel dizzy,” Louis says, eyes wide and dazed. 

“What happened to him?" 

"Plate - plate fell on his head,” Niall says. He’s trembling. 

“He might be concussed, we should get him to the doctor’s as soon as we can." 

"Nick,” Harry says, suddenly, his voice slow and deep, and Nick turns to look at him. 

“What, um, what - what are we looking at, here, darling?” he says, trying to sound confident, though that bad feeling is back, crawling up his spine. 

“I was right, before,” Harry says, head tilting, his eyes faraway. “She wants me to stay, and she wants all of you to leave." 

"That’s not happening,” Nick says, fiercely. “No." 

The sink turns on full-blast, boiling hot. Nick can see the steam rising. 

"Nick,” Harry murmurs. He won’t make eye contact with Nick. It’s unsettling. “It’s going to be a lot easier if you all leave." 

"Who am I talking to, love?” Nick says, loud and firm. “Who’s there with you, Harry?" 

Harry doesn’t answer. Just looks thoughtful. 

"Is he possessed or sommat?” Niall whispers. 

“Harry,” Nick says, slowly. “Are you listening to me?" 

"Are you listening to _me_?” Harry says back, and - oh, god, his voice is sour and sharp and unfamiliar, and - shit. Shit. _Shit_. 

“I don’t know,” Nick says, straightening up, not moving any closer. “I’d like to know who I’m speaking with." 

"I’d like to be alone in here,” Harry says, baring his teeth. “I’d like you to leave." 

"I thought you hated being alone,” Nick says quietly. “I thought you died alone, didn’t you? You don’t have to be alone, anymore, alright, love?" 

"Get out!” Harry yells, and Nick waves at Niall and Louis, his hand trembling. 

“Leave,"  he says. "Get Zayn and go." 

Niall nods, helps Louis up, and they stagger out of the room. 

"You too, Nick,” Harry says, shaking his head. 

“No, I don’t think so, love." 

"I don’t want anyone to get _hurt_!” Harry cries, and his voice cracks, and Nick’s not sure if it’s Harry, or her, or - or both. Or neither. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Harry,” he says, taking a step towards him. There’s still steam billowing from the sink, and glass under his feet, and Nick feels shaky with fear even as his eyes and brain sharpen with a pulse of adrenaline. “I don’t want you getting hurt." 

Harry’s eyes flutter closed, and then open again, familiar green, focusing on Nick for the first time since they got there. 

"I won’t,” he says, soft and clear. “You have to trust me." 

"I trust you,” Nick murmurs, taking another step towards him. “I trust you, alright, but I want you to be careful, here-" 

"I need you to not _touch_ me,” Harry snaps, taking a step back, sounding angry again, hair falling into his face and shoulders hunched. “I - I have to be alone now, Nick." 

"Please don’t leave me,” Nick says, desperately, pathetically. God. No one ever talks about this bit of the business, where your last defense is a heartfelt plea to something that was human a long time ago. Exorcisms and holy water and brute force are something, but Nick’s gotten out of more than one scrape by just - _begging_. 

But now it’s not just about him, it’s about Harry. 

“You have to trust me,” Harry says, impatient, distracted, like his head’s too full to even see Nick’s side, right now. “You have to go." 

"Please,” Nick murmurs. “Harry, I can’t leave until I- until I know I’m not gonna lose you." 

Harry looks at him again- right in the eyes. 

"You’re not gonna lose me.”

“I love you,” Nick says, too fast, voice trembling. He’s never said it like that, out loud, plainly. He’s never said it to anyone. “I can’t lose you." 

Harry nods, still looking at him, looking benevolent and untouchable. 

Nick feels small. 

"Let us be alone,” Harry says, smoothly, low in his throat. “And you won’t lose me." 

Nick nods, over and over, a hot lump in his throat. Harry’s not listening to him, because Harry’s not really there. 

"I trust you,” he says helplessly, blinking furiously, and when he walks out of the kitchen - his stomach shaking, his eyes starting to spill over - he hears the sink turn off. 

He stumbles down the steps, wiping his eyes under his glasses, and Niall calls, “Nick?" 

He looks up. They’re huddled against his car, the three of them - Louis with a blanket around his shoulders, Zayn yawning, somehow, looking bored even though they’re in the middle of a bloody haunting. 

"Here,” he says, digging in his pocket for his car keys. “Take him to hospital." 

"I got sick,” Louis says, slowly, head lolling. The blood’s dried on his cheek, rusty brown. “On the ground." 

"Definitely concussed,” Niall says grimly. 

“Take him, alright - go,” Nick snaps, shoving the keys into Niall’s hand, while Zayn helps Louis walk around to the passenger side. 

“What about you?” Niall says, breathing hard, the wind whipping his hair off his face. “What’re you gonna do?" 

"I’m gonna wait,” Nick says, sucking in a shuddery breath. “I’m not leaving him alone.”

“That’s mad.” Niall stares at him. “You can’t just sit out here, it - it could kill you." 

"Harry says she won’t,” Nick says. “And I trust Harry." 

"That’s even madder,” Niall spits. “Have you noticed he’s fucking possessed at the moment?" 

"He’s not possessed." 

"Seemed like it!" 

"He’s - _not_. Just go, alright? Come back when Louis’s sorted out. You’ll be safe outside the house, I swear." 

Niall shakes his head, watching him. 

"Must be shit, huh,” he says, quietly. “Loving someone like that." 

Nick looks at him, his stomach clenching. There’s no point in denying it, right now, with Louis slumped against the car bleeding and Harry inside, doing God-knows-what. 

"Yeah,” he says, honest, his voice cracking. “Can’t really fucking help it, though. Go on, get out of here." 

–--

In a minute Nick’s alone, the moon bright overhead and the street empty. There’s only one light on in the house, now - a glow emanating from the kitchen. 

Nick sits on the curb, breathes out slowly. 

There’s perks to this job. He’s not afraid of the dark, the way he was when he was little. He knows what’s out there, now, and he knows that everything moves in patterns, and that if you keep to yourself, most of the time, so do the things that go bump in the night. 

Not all the time, but then, that’s what Nick’s there for, isn’t it. 

It was lonely, before Harry. Nick’s not ashamed to admit it. There was a gap between his brother and Harry - two long years between Andrew’s funeral and Harry showing up in his life, all big eyes and clumsy feet and that awful keen mind of his. 

If he loses Harry, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to go on. 

But then again, that’s what he thought about Andrew. 

He closes his eyes. 

The first time he met Harry, he was working a case in Manchester - standard demonic possession, but then Nick had been on the job long enough to know that nothing was really standard when it came to demons. 

It was a woman. Two young children, no dad around, and she stabbed herself in the belly before Nick exorcised her, left a bloody shell of a human behind - along with two squalling babies in the next room and the thick scent of sulfur.  

It hit Nick hard, for some reason. He got out of town once the job was wrapped up, drove aimlessly until he hit Cheshire. He stopped in at a bakery, and that’s when he saw him. Harry. He was behind the counter, his hair tied back with a patterned scarf, picking at a muffin, and when Nick stepped up to buy something Harry stared at him for too long and said softly, "You have blood on your hands." 

Nick’s heart jumped, but when he looked there was nothing there - his hands scrubbed clean. 

"Wasn’t your fault,” Harry said - well, he wasn’t Harry then, he was just some bakery worker in a small town with too-big eyes, wide and intense. “You couldn’t have saved her." 

Nick turned on his heel, because fuck that. His skin was prickling, terrified, and he half-expected to be thrown against the wall - a demon’s never followed him before, but there’s a first time for everything, innit - when Harry called, "Wait!" 

Nick stopped. He still doesn’t know why. 

"Wait,” Harry repeated, when Nick turned around, and he looked desperate. “Wait, shit. I’m - I’m sorry. I don’t - I didn’t mean to say that, alright?" 

He smiled anxiously, and if he was a demon, he was nicer than any one Nick had ever met. Which maybe should have freaked him out more, but it didn’t. 

"I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to, um. To read you. I can’t really - control when I - and you, um. I don’t know. You’re broadcasting a lot." 

"Broadcasting?” Nick said, breath caught in his chest. 

“Like, I - it’s like a shadow, around you,” Harry said, making a lot of vague hand motions and squinting. The bakery was empty, thank fuck, or Nick would be out the bloody door already, muttering about the crazy kid behind the counter talking shite. “Darkness. You - you feel dark." 

Nick scrubbed a hand through his hair, swallowing hard, tongue thick in his mouth. It’d been ages since he even spoke to another human being, at least one who wasn’t either a hotel clerk, or a waitress, or fucking _possessed_. 

"What are you?” he asked, suspicious, and underneath that - hopeful, just the slightest bit. 

Harry smiled. “I’m Harry,” he said, and that was that. 

Harry had a mum and stepdad, but he didn’t like to talk about them. Harry had a sister, but he didn’t like to talk about her. Harry lived in a hovel of a flat and made fuck-all at the bakery and didn’t have any friends. 

“They think I’m - strange,” he said once, sat in the passenger seat of Nick’s car, fiddling with the radio. “Because of the voices." 

 _Clairvoyant_ , Nick explained to him, once he’d heard about Harry’s visions, and the feelings he got sometimes, and the way he could hear stuff other people couldn’t hear, feel things other people couldn’t feel. 

Nick didn’t have friends either, but that was because of his job. 

He had friends at uni, anyway. Or he did for the year he went, before Andrew showed up and told Nick _sorry, but you can’t do this anymore_. 

_Sorry, but we need you. Your family needs you._

Nick’s certain no one remembers him. 

But that’s in the past. 

–--

He sits there at the curb for an hour, and then two. The sun’s coming up, watery and pale, by the time the door of the house creaks open behind him. 

Nick staggers to his feet, stiff and exhausted, and nearly weeps with relief. 

It’s Harry. He’s coming slowly down the steps, and he doesn’t look tired. He looks so - good. Fresh, soft-eyed, calm, like he’s been at a bloody spa all night instead of stuck in a house with an angry spirit. 

Nick sucks in a shaky breath, says hoarsely, "Hey." 

Harry nods. 

"You’re alright?” Nick says, voice thick. 

Harry nods again. Quietly puts his arms around Nick’s neck, warm. He smells strange, metallic almost, but Nick holds him fiercely anyway.

Harry lifts his mouth to Nick’s ear, whispers, “I love you too." 

And - that’s not - Jesus _Christ_. Nick pulls back, and Harry smiles at him, so softly it makes Nick feel trembly all over with fear and relief. 

Harry strokes Nick’s hair off his forehead and says, "I know where she’s buried.”

–--

Harry leads him into the woods behind the house. He’s holding Nick’s hand, and he doesn’t say anything, so Nick keeps quiet too. He has questions, but they can wait. 

“Here,” Harry says, watery-eyed, pointing at a patch of weeds, nothing out of the ordinary. “She died, Nick, she killed herself, and someone dragged her out here from the kitchen. Someone didn’t even care enough to let her have a proper burial, or let her family know. That’s why there are no _fucking_ records, because they just - they just thought she went missing, and they gave up, and she was here the whole time." 

Nick stares at the ground. He has what they need in the boot of his car - shovels, salt, lighter fluid. They’ll have to come back. 

But right now, the sun is rising, filtering pink and wan through the trees, and Harry has started to cry. 

"C'mere,” Nick says numbly, tugging Harry into his side, rubbing his warm back. “It’s alright, love. It’s alright." 

"I fucking hate this,” Harry chokes out. “Sometimes I hate being like this." 

Nick snorts humorlessly. Join the fucking club. He’s hated what he’s done since the first job he ever worked, with Andrew, ages and ages ago. It was a shapeshifter leaving a trail of bodies up and down a tiny town in north Scotland, and Nick didn’t know what the hell was going on - just that he was seeing more blood than he ever had in his life, and Andrew was angry all the time, fierce and snappish with him, and Nick missed his friends and missed uni and missed being fucking normal. 

Hating it is part of it. That’s what Nick’s figured out, over the past nine years of his life. 

"Remember what you said when we met?” he says, stroking over the mess of Harry’s curls as Harry hitches out another sob into his shoulder. “You told me it wasn’t my fault." 

Harry sniffles.

"S'not your fault, what happened to her,” Nick says, tiredly. “And we’re gonna put her to rest. Yeah?" 

"Yeah,” Harry answers, voice small, and they walk back through the woods. 

Niall’s in front when they come around the house, leaning against Nick’s car, gnawing at his fingernails. 

“Oh _Jesus_ ,” he yells, when he sees them. “Scared the life out of me." 

"We’re alright,” Nick calls. “Both fine. And - and give it an hour or two, but we should be done soon, you’ll be spirit-free." 

"He still all fucked in the head?” Niall asks suspiciously, nodding at Harry. 

Harry flushes. 

“Sorry,” he says, and Nick rubs Harry’s back, says to Niall, “He’s fine. Should be bleedin’ thanking him, he’s the one who got your sorry arses out of this." 

"My sorry arse ain’t out of _nothing_ yet,” Niall says, eyeing the house warily. “Louis’ alright, by the way. Zayn’s with him at the hospital, they said he just needs to take it easy for a couple days." 

Nick nods, takes his keys from Niall and unlocks the boot, tosses Harry a shovel. 

"What are you - what’s that for?” Niall asks, voice going high. 

“Gotta dig up the body,” Nick says, laughing a little. It does always sound pretty barbaric when he says it to someone who doesn’t know what they do. “Salt and burn the bones, and you’ll be all set." 

"Dig up the - wait, there’s a body? _Here_?" 

"Buried right in the backyard.” Nick hoists the bag of salt up on his shoulder, grins. “You never noticed?" 

"Oh my bleeding fuck,” Niall mutters. “That’s disgusting." 

"That’s life,” Nick says with a shrug. “Or death, I suppose." 

–--

Two hours later, they’re on the road, and everything’s sorted. It’s barely eight AM. 

"I’ll miss them, a bit,” Nick says, one hand on the wheel, his eyes prickly with exhaustion. Harry’s next to him, gnawing at the crusts of a bacon sandwich Niall insisted on making them before they took off. “I mean, they were idiots, but they were lovable idiots." 

"Me too,” Harry says, chewing. He has big dark sunglasses on, and crumbs on his shirt, and his hair needs a wash, and Nick’s awfully in love with him. 

Harry swallows, and continues. “I felt a bit like - like. If I weren’t, you know. The way I am. If I were normal. Like maybe we could have been friends." 

Nick’s heart hurts for a long moment. He forgets, sometimes, how young Harry is. Barely twenty, and already so far removed from how they’re supposed to be. 

Nick felt that way too, in early days, in the long, frightening months after Andrew pulled him out of uni. He’d meet people on jobs, normal people with friends and dogs and boyfriends, and think, _why isn’t this my life_? He’d think, _I’m more like you than I am like my brother_. 

He wants to say something comforting, but there isn’t anything, really. There really isn’t. 

Maybe it’s a cycle. Maybe Harry’s next in the bloodline, and Nick’s doing to him exactly what Andrew did to Nick. 

He doesn’t say any of that, though. Because he’s selfish, and he’s in love, and if Harry ever realizes how good he is he’ll leave Nick behind. 

"Maybe,” he says. 

“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Harry says with a sigh, cranking the window down. He reaches between them, quietly takes Nick’s hand. “Where are we off to?”

Nick clears his throat, shifts his hand until he can lace his fingers through Harry’s. It makes his heart jump sickeningly in his chest. He’s never - he’s never, ever let himself do this. In uni he kissed one boy and blew another and then Andrew showed up and Nick stopped thinking he was allowed to do that. 

He was so lonely. Even when Andrew was alive. 

“Um,” he says. “Bristol. Two deaths reported in the last week, no signs of forced entry on either house, both people died of internal injuries with no external marks." 

"Demon, are we thinking?” Harry says, yawning, stroking his thumb over Nick’s knuckles. 

“Seems like." 

"Wicked,” Harry mumbles. “Just gonna have a kip." 

"I’ll let you know when we’re there,” Nick says, turning the radio down, and Harry settles back into the seat with a yawn. 

In a minute he’s passed out, hand gone slack in Nick’s, and Nick carefully draws his fingers out of Harry’s and puts his hand on the wheel, lets out a long breath. 

He has this dream sometimes. About settling down, when he’s grown tired of the job. If he hasn’t been killed first.

Maybe get a house somewhere, in a small town. Or a flat in London, in that big mess of humanity that still intimidates him whenever they work a job there. Get a dog. A house, and a dog, and a real job. 

Maybe Harry could be there too. In Nick’s house, in his bed. 

If they kept quiet about it, they’d be alright, probably. 

He looks over at Harry, fast asleep with Nick’s jacket tucked under his chin, his mouth open and soft, and he can’t help the grin that creeps onto his face. 

God, if they fucking make it. It’s a long shot, in this business, but they might just pull it off. 


End file.
